


Ransom

by QueenOfNewOrleans22



Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22
Summary: Richie Sambora desperately wants to be part of a specific band that's been playing at a bar that he frequents, even if that means kidnapping the lead singer of said band and holding him captive.
Relationships: Jon Bon Jovi/Richie Sambora
Comments: 47
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esayel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esayel/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Esayel, who inspired me to make a chapter story about a one-off paragraph in another story.

Richie wondered if he was crazy for doing this - if he'd temporarily lost his mind. 

After all, no _sane_ person would crouch in the darkness of the night, shadowed in the alleyway, essentially invisible as he waited like a predator for his prey. Richie knew that he wasn't a bad person, but this is what bad people did, wasn't it? No good person would willingly kidnap another, would take him away from his family and friends, but it wasn't like Richie was going to kill him or anything. It was just to do was what necessary, after all. 

' _That's what crazy people tell themselves.'_ Richie thought, shifting around as his knees began to cramp, and placing his hands on the ground to steady himself. 

The hours were beginning to drag by, and Richie was worried that it would even happen at this point. Maybe it was God's way of telling him to just go back home, but just as that thought occurred to him, the exit door opened and a slender figure stepped out from the dancing lights of the bar. The door shut heavily, ringing through the empty night, and Richie perked up. 

Finally, John had gone outside, at a much later time than he usually did, but he had made it, and that's all that mattered. Sometimes, one of his friends, usually the bassist, would join him on the smoke breaks, but tonight, only John stood, his hair flying around in the wind, still dressed in his stage clothes. 

Two nights ago, Richie had approached him, wanting - no, _needing,_ to be his guitarist, but Jon had given a thin smile and said that he'd think about it but then disappeared back into the crowd before Richie could write down his (parents') number so that he didn't have to keep tracking John down. 

John lit a cigarette and stared pensively out toward apartment buildings on the other side of the street, his blue eyes dotted with darkness. The loose curls in his hair hung around his face loosely. Richie almost didn't do it, almost just stormed back to his car and drove away because this was fucking insane, but then he continued to crouch there, still as a statue, listening to the howling wind. He had three minutes or less. John sometimes lingered, perhaps to enjoy the silence, and one of the guys would always come out to grab him, so Richie knew that his time was limited. 

With a deep breathe, Richie crept out from the shadows, glancing back toward the door one last time. John wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, which gave Richie an advantage as he came up behind the blonde. Careful to be as quiet as a church mouse, not daring to even breathe, Richie slowly straightened up into a standing position. 

"What the - " John's words broke off into a choked scream as Richie slapped the cigarette away, smacking his hand over John's mouth while his other arm wrapped around the other man's body, constricting his arms against his chest. 

Richie could feel John thrashing, cold desperation morphing into pure terror as he kicked and dug his nails into Richie's arm, yelling against his hand. Richie felt as one of John's kicks connects with his leg, and bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. "Shut up. Shut up. Stop it." Richie whispered, squeezing John's chest in warning, feeling the blonde's heart pounding painfully against his ribs. Richie hadn't brought a weapon with him, because he had no intention of harming anybody, much less John - but he should've, because he needed some measure of fear. 

"Keep fighting, and I'll slit your throat." Richie hissed, even though he had no knife to do that with and, even so, wouldn't do it in a million years. He was a kidnapper, yes, but he had _standards._

John stilled, his body wracked his terrified shivers as they stood there, his eyes wide with terror. Richie took a deep breathe and glanced over his shoulder, knowing that there was limited time, and beginning to drag John toward the street and, by extension, his car. John stumbled, probably half from fear and half to stall Richie, but Richie was stronger and just continued to pull him. 

Luckily, or perhaps more unluckily, the side of town that they were in was empty at this time of night, so nobody was there to see them or prevent the events from happening. Richie kept glancing at the bar, praying that none of the other members in John's band would come to drag him back inside, but there was nobody. The fact wasn't lost on John, whose eyes kept going between the car and the bar, silent, but far from compliant. 

As Richie removed one of his hands to open the passenger door, John attempted to run, and very damn near made it. He half-pushed Riche away from him before turning tail, but Richie was quick enough on his feet to grab John and pull him backwards onto the pavement, muffling John's yell of combined indignation and fear with his hand. " _Stop. It."_ Richie hissed, pressing his body weight down onto the blonde to keep him immobile. "Do you want to survive this?" 

John nodded his head shakily. 

"Then stop fighting, and get in the goddamn car." Richie stood back up, grabbing his captive by the arm and pushing him into the car, pausing, just for a moment, to wonder if John would attempt to escape again. But there was no other real alternative, so Richie just shut the door and quickly went to the other side of the car, hurriedly getting in and starting the engine, which came rumbling to life. 

"Put your seatbelt on." Richie said as they sat in the idling car. 

John stared at him, eyes wide. 

"Oh, c'mon - your seatbelt." Richie huffed out a sigh and then leaned across the partition, grabbing the seatbelt and pulling it across John's chest, hearing as the blonde's breathe hitched when he came close. "I'm not gonna hurt you." Richie said unnecessarily, even though the words were in vain.

' _You just kidnapped him, he thinks he's about to die!'_ Richie admonished himself as he pulled the car away from the curb and began to drive, keeping it on the legal level but going fast enough that John couldn't just jump out. Richie knew perfectly well that John recognized him, which was probably bad, because if this whole thing failed, then he would be in big trouble. 

The first few minutes in the car were spent in silence as Richie navigated to the apartment and John probably tried to figure out how he was going to escape this, which Richie admired but really wished that he wouldn't, because he didn't want to go to jail, and - ' _Your parents are gonna be pissed.'_

John shut his eyes tightly as he tried to get his breathing under control, his fingers curled into the palms of his hands. Richie glanced at him, feeling his pity turn into sympathy. "You're gonna be okay. I'm not gonna hurt you." He said. 

"Why?" John whispered, still refusing to look at Richie. 

"You'll see." Richie's voice softened as he took a right, knowing that there was likely nothing that could be said to calm John down, but hoping that he could, anyways, because he couldn't do with the ensuing panic and terror. "But, with any luck, this won't be for long, okay?" 

The apartment that Richie was renting wasn't that far away from the bar, so it didn't take long for them to arrive at the looming building. There was unspoken tension, fear and surprise all blooming into a terrible mess of emotions. Richie had no idea what he was even going to do, knowing that it was so wrong but not sure what else to do, and John just wanted to go back home. 


	2. Chapter 2

The apartment building was slightly derelict, a combined product of disuse and forgetfulness from whoever owned it. There was garbage surrounding the sides and one of Richie's neighbors was missing a window pane, allowing for the world to see into a dirty apartment, complete with a bong sitting out on the sill. 

John shrunk back in his seat, looking unsure. "Listen, man." He said in a small voice that sounded soft and uncertain. "I have fifty bucks in my pocket. You can have it, and I've got a wa - a watch right here." He dug his feet into the carpet on the bottom of the car. 

"I don't want your money or shit, John." Richie said. "I'll tell you all about what I need when we get inside." He opened the door and stepped out into the cold night, squinting slightly in the darkness with a small frown. He shut the door and crossed to the other side, opening the passenger's side and motioning for John to step out. 

For a moment, John seemed to be thinking about something else, about maybe pushing past Richie and making a break for it, but he stepped out, anyways, and didn't fight when Richie grabbed his arm, shut the door, locked the car (with his luck, the car would be stolen by morning) and began to lead him toward the building. 

This late at night, the parking lot was deserted, and besides from a single vagrant lingering near a small fire, there was nobody. Richie walked fast, loose gravel crunching underneath his shoes. "I'm sorry about this." Richie mumbled out of the side of his mouth, opening the door and pushing John inside before following. 

"No, you're not." John whispered, allowing himself to be pushed into the elevator. Richie pushed the button for the fifth floor and the elevator lurched ominously before it began to rise. The air was stuffy and thick, with a cigarette that was still smoking rolling around in the corner. Richie extinguished it with the heel of his shoe, choosing to ignore the reply. 

The ride on the elevator, much like in the car, was spent in tense silence. 

Richie played around with his keys, beginning to feel greatly nervous as the consequences of his actions hit him like a freight train. He could go to jail, risking his own future, just for a band that probably wouldn't last a few mors yeats. John probably was fearing for his goddamn life, and rightfully so, but needlessly, anyways. Richie could only imagine what his parents would say if they knew about this. He hated when they were disappointed in him. 

Previously, Richie had still been living with his parents, but had moved out when the idea had first taken existence. His parents had been overjoyed, unknowing as to what was really going on behind the scenes. 

The doors opened, and Richie poked John in warning as they stepped out into the small, smoke-filled hallway. Luckily enough, there was nobody around, not even the nosy old lady from next door. But yet, Richie couldn't allow himself to breathe until he opened the door and John was inside, and then Richie walked into the apartment and shut the door firmly behind him, locking it, just to be safe. 

It was only then that Richie could allow himself to breathe again. 

John stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking terrified but biting hid lip, as if to prevent himself from saying something. The apartment was small and bare, but it was enough of a home for them to stay there for a few weeks at most.

Richie had been stocking up on food and water so that he didn't have to leave and avoid suspicion. "Okay, um, would you like to sit down, have a drink of water?" He asked, dreadfully aware of how weird the whole situation was. 

For a long minute, John only stared. "Tell me why." He demanded, like he was the one in charge, like _he_ was the captor. 

"Maybe you should sit down." Richie said, but John just stood there, so he sighed but stayed in front of the door, not willing to risk it. 

"Okay." Richie sighed. "So, I want to be part of your band, but then you kinda said no and this is - " He vaguely motioned around the room, unsure of how to say it, how he was supposed to explain his thought process, because John wouldn't understand it, wouldn't realize what could've lead to this. 

John's eyebrows slowly raised up to his hairline. "You kidnapped me...because you want to be part of the band?" He said softly. "I didn't - when did I say no?" 

"You didn't say _no,_ but you walked away." Richie paused, realizing how ridiculous this whole thing was. But he was in too far to back out now, and he hadn't even gone to the meat of the issue. "Anyways, I have a plan, and until my plan is finished, then you're gonna stay, in here, with me." 

The words felt final and heavy, and John almost flinched, angling one of his shoulders toward Richie, as if to protect himself. "What?" He said quietly. "I'm not gonna - you can't - " He was starting to panic, as if the weight of the situation was just beginning to weigh on him. "I don't wanna die."

"No, no, no." Richie hurried to say. "You're not gonna die." He paused. "But you're not gonna leave, either." 

\--- 

It took two minutes after the car drove off for Tico to finally open the door and call out for his friend. "John, _John!_ We're ready for our next set." He hung out of the threshold, awaiting patiently for John to round the corner with a ready smile, but nobody nor nothing came. 

Another minutes passed, and then Tico stepped out fully, observing every shadow for any sign of the blonde. "John, c'mon, man. 'Lec is already drunk off his ass, we don't have much time." He peered either way of the alley, but there was no sign of John. 

Worry blossomed in Tico's chest as he walked toward the street, looking every which way, knowing that John wouldn't wander off. ' _"JOHN!"_ He shouted, and then he nearly jumped in the air like a cartoon cat as something crinkled underneath his shoe. 

Tico looked down, and saw that there was an extinguished cigarette on the ground, left on the sidewalk, not far from where John usually went to smoke. Tico stared at it for a long minute as the reality of the situation settled over him like a heavy blanket, and then he turned and jogged back the door. 

The bar was dark, and it was hard to navigate, but Tico managed to weave his way around the horde of people and stumble back up the stage. Alec was picking at the strings of his bass and David was messing around with one of Tico's drumsticks. Tico didn't bother to take it back, knowing that the fight would be in vain. "Guys, John's gone." 

"Huh?" Alec frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. "Where'd he go?" 

Tico stared at him. "Why would I know? He's gone, man! Vanished!" 

"Maybe he - I dunno." David paused and looked down at the floor. "Where could he have gone?" 

At a loss, Tico could only shrug. 


	3. Chapter 3

Richie tried to reassure himself that this - _this -_ was a good idea, that it would all work out in the end, but as he stood in front of the door, biting his nails and wondering if he'd temporarily lost his mind, that reassurance was driving further and further away from reality. 

"Um, so." He took a deep breathe, lowering his hands and resting them on his thighs. "I guess that we should get formalities out of the way, huh?" Richie laughed nervously, but John's face remained blank so the smile fell away and he cleared his throat. 

Chances were, if John decided to go to the cops, then Richie was doomed, anyways, so it wasn't like this would make much of a difference.

"I'm Richie Sambora." Richie said. "I play guitar." 

The air in the room and tense and somewhat volatile, like John was trying to prevent himself from tossing something heavy and, preferably, glass at Richie's head. "Okay." He said softly, nodding his head. 

Richie cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for the rough time we had back in the alleyway, but you were fighting and I just - " He shrugged, not knowing what else to really say without further questioning himself and the stupid idea that this whole thing had been. "No hard feelings, okay?" 

Silence followed those words, and Richie sighed, his shoulders slumped in admitted defeat. "Okay, it's late, and I gotta get something done tomorrow, so I think we should catch some Z's." He rubbed his hands together. 

John's face contorted. "What do you have to do?" He asked in a slow, hesitant tone, as if he was just dipping his toes into the pool instead of fully diving in, testing if it was too cold - or perhaps just if he could get a backhand for a simple question. 

"None of your business." Richie said brightly, grabbing a blanket that'd been thrown onto the ground. "I'm gonna be awake, so don't try anything." He handed away the blanket, walked to the chair, and he sat down. "You can take the couch."

"Okay." John repeated, walking to the couch and sitting down. After a minute of that, he finally lay down fully, but he was tense and Richie knew that John was watching his every move, perhaps for him to make a mistake and allow for John to escape, but more than likely because John was probably still thinking that he was going to die. 

It was a slow moving, but John did lay down, wrapping the blanket around his body, watching as Richie sighed and settled in for a long night with a roll of paper and two pencils. He looked down at the paper, unsure of what he planned to write, but knowing that it had to be good, otherwise he might as well just hand himself in with his wrists bound by tape and a confession. 

An undetermined amount of time passed as John continued to stare, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He knew that Richie looked harmless, knew that, so far in, he seemed like a pretty useless kidnapper - but that didn't erase the fact that John remembered those whispered threats from the alleyway. 

' _Go to sleep, you asshole.'_ John silently begged, burrowing his face in the blanket, hoping that Richie would think that he was asleep. ' _Don't let me die, God.'_

John wondered if the guys had noticed and if they were looking for him, or had perhaps just called it quite and left for the night, thinking that he'd ditched them for some reason or another. He wondered if his parents were concerned, but likely not, because he wasn't due home for awhile yet. 

' _Why did he kidnap me?'_ John thought. ' _It wasn't because of the guitarist thing, I know that. What a stupid excuse. Nobody kidnaps somebody just because they wanna be in their band. How dumb does this guy think I am? I would gladly trade having to play the guitar the whole set for another idiot in my band.'_

Hours passed must've, but the clock above the small television set only said that thirty minutes had gone by. John wondered what Richie was gonna do to him, but then something came along - an inkling of a thought, small and terrible, a whisper that had turned into a yell. ' _He told you his name.'_

The mere thought was like ice cold water being poured all over John's body, and he could feel his heart start to speed up. Richie had told him his name, as if John didn't remember it from the first time they'd met - didn't that mean something? 

There were only three real options, maybe four. 

Richie was dumb as a box of rocks, which was unlikely. 

Maybe Richie had given him a fake name, which was unlikely, since he'd said it that first night they'd met. 

Or he either planned on keeping John forever...or killing him. 

\- 

"I looked all over." David said breathlessly as he jogged into view. "He's nowhere."

The sky was pitch black, with not even a single star to light their way, and Tico sighed, feeling his worry only increase. He was the one to drove the guys back home at night - John didn't even own a car, and it was a long way back to his parents' house, not to mention that he was weary of people and wouldn't just get into a stranger's car for whatever reason, especially when they had another few songs to get through before the end of their set. 

"He wouldn't have just left." Alec said, sounding confident in himself. "What if somebody robbed him?" He looked between the other two, eyebrows drawn close to his eyes in worry. 

Tico frowned, because as much as he hated to admit it, _something_ bad must've happened for John to just disappear like that. "Let's go back to the bar. We gotta get our instruments, anyways. We're gonna look all over that goddamn alleyway for anything that looks suspicious, okay?" 

"Okay." Alec said.

They all walked back to the bar, which served home to some angry people who ad been expecting a show but had gotten silence. Tico had smiled politely all the while taking down his drum kit, hoping that there wouldn't be a fight, and, thankfully, there wasn't. 

People stared as they hurriedly left the bar, setting the instruments down in the trunk before going back to the alleyway. 

David rooted through the boxes that were piled on one side of the alley, finding trash and old clothes left behind from whoever had come before them, but nothing that could be tied to John. Previously, David hadn't been too concerned, but now, as more and more time passed, it became very clear that something was wrong. 

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Alec kicked one of the boxes. "Just a whole bunch of trash." He scowled. 

"Fuck." Tico sighed, looking up toward the sky. "How long has it been?" 

Alec looked down at his waist, squinting in the nonexistent light. "It's been two hours." He replied. 

Falling silent, Tico thought about it, wondering if it was nothing, but knowing that it was something. He hoped that, for some reason or another, John had walked to the nearest bus stop and gone home. But there was a bad feeling in his gut, and he couldn't just go home. 

None of them could. 

"Let's go to his parents house." Tico finally said. 


	4. Chapter 4

Richie had never been so clueless in his life. He felt at a loss, like his mind had suddenly blanked out and left him running on empty. 

As time sped by, Richie tapped the end of his pencil on the notebook he had sitting on his lap and wondered what he was about to write. He couldn't go in hostile, but he needed to assert his dominance. Richie exhaled heavily and frowned, wondering what the best course of action would be. A part of him wondered if the guys would just take it as some dumb joke, which would ruin his whole plan, not that he had much of one in the first place, but that didn't matter. 

"What are their names?" Richie suddenly asked, breaking the tense silence that'd fallen over the apartment. He continued to tap the pencil, creating a dull thumping noise that sounded fairly ominous in the dark apartment. He hardly thought that messing up on their names would be good for the plan, after all. 

John, startled, looked up. "What?" He said. 

"The names of your friends." Richie elaborated. "I forget them." He added, as if that needed much more explanation than he'd given. 

For a moment, John only stared. His eyebrows furrowed, and he almost seemed to consider the words. "Why?" He asked. 

Richie resisted the urge to toss the notebook across the room. He set down the pencil and rubbed the bridge of his nose. This whole kidnapping business was a lot more stressful than he'd originally thought. "Because I have you hostage and the last thing you need to do is ask questions!" Richie snapped, much more loudly than he'd meant. 

Something seemed to change in John's eyes, and he pushed himself back against the couch. "Tico, Alec and David." He said, voice soft and almost rushed, making John trip over the names as he recited them. 

"Last names, too." Richie said, regretting having snapped and placing his hand over his heart. He could feel it besting rapidly and it made him feel sick. He wasn't this type of person, and he didn't want John to think that he was. 

"Tico Torres, Alec John Such and David Rashbaum." John replied. 

"Thank you!" Richie nodded and looked back down at the paper, quickly writing down the names before he forgot them. "You know, I thought I knew their names but then I was sitting here and I couldn't remember them for the life of me, which is the story of my life, really." He chuckled. 

John, silent, stared for a moment more before he burrowed back into the blanket, as if trying to hide himself and failing quite miserably. He wasn't going to be able to get any sleep, and that fact was becoming clearer and clearer as time passed. 

With that in mind, John also knew that he couldn't just let Richie kill him and not do anything about it. He clutched the hem of the blanket between his fingers and focused on the coarse, rough feeling underneath his fingertips. John focused on his heartbeat, and then rested his head on the arm of the couch, his gaze shifting toward the door. 

It was so close....so close. John could run for it, but Richie was stronger than he was, and likely prepared for such a thing. His mind then turned to the paper, and he tried to think of reasons that Richie would need his friends' names. 

For some reason, John couldn't think of any. He felt too scared to even think of why Richie would be writing down a letter. ' _I don't wanna die!'_ John thought, and it felt hard to breath all of a sudden. 

As the fear became harder to contain, John tried to remember what the last words had been that he'd told his parents and brothers. He had kissed his mother on the cheek and said that he would be back later. His father had hugged him and told him to be safe.

John had remembered laughing and saying that he would be fine. He'd gone upstairs to get his guitar and yelled at Anthony because he'd been playing on the stairs and John had nearly broke his neck. Anthony had said some snarky comment back and told John like he looked like the neighbor's cocker spaniel. John had went outside and warned Matthew to be careful with his soccer ball because the last time he'd played, the ball had went through a window, and Matt had held up his middle finger without even turning around. 

In the distant tremors of his mind, John wondered if those would be the last words he would ever say to them. He wondered if Anthony and Matthew would be upset that their older brother was gone, if they would even care. John told himself to stop thinking about it before he drove himself crazy. He couldn't think about that, because then he would start crying and Richie couldn't see him cry. 

Slowly, John's eyes flickered back up to the door. "I need to use the bathroom." 

"What?" Richie looked up from where he'd been bent, writing studiously in his notebook. 

"I need to use the bathroom." John lied, and the words sounded awkward. He'd never been a good liar when fear made him clumsy and his mind was too filled with thoughts to think. 

Richie shook his head. "Can you wait a few minutes? I just got more than a few words in." He said, and he gestured to the notebook. 

There was a split second where John considered arguing, but then he rested his head back down and wondered if it was a stupid idea, anyways. The bathroom would hardly be a place to hold any suitable weapons, after all. But John had always been creative, and he wondered if something innocuous would prove to be much deadlier than it should've been. 

A cold draft went through the apartment, although John figured it was just his imagination. The idea of dying in the dark place that he was in made John suddenly feel alone, and he hated it. "Please." He said. 

"Okay, okay. Impatient, are you?" Richie set aside his notebook and covered it up with his jacket. "Come on." He said, gesturing for John to stand up, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

John wondered if the coldness really had been his imagination as he stood up and followed Richie out of the living room. It didn't escape his notice that there wasn't much in the way of furniture - the dining table didn't have any chairs, and the kitchen looked bare. ' _Maybe this isn't really his apartment. Maybe he's smarter than you think.'_ John thought, and he shivered, more out of fear than actually being cold. 

"It's nothing much, I know." Richie suddenly said, and then he clamped his mouth shut, like he hadn't meant to say anything. There was a short hallway with three closed doors, and Richie opened the one on the left side. "Um, don't be long." He said in a quieter tone. 

' _You go from yelling at me to acting like a shy kid in five minutes.'_ John thought, but he didn't dare say anything about it. He shuffled inside of the bathroom, which smelt strongly of mildew, and Richie shut the door behind him. 

There wasn't a lock on the door, John saw immediately, and he also noticed that windows were a quality that was severely lacking. There was one, but it was about twelve feet off the ground and five inches across. John sighed, reaching over and turning the water on low. 

Underneath the cupboard, there were two rolls of toilet paper and a bag of cotton swabs. John stared at them before standing up and looking around the room, searching desperately for a weapon or a way out. But there was nothing, and the fear became suffocating.

John looked at the towel rack. It was heavy and metal, but it was drilled to the wall and wouldn't be easy to get out. He glanced at the door, and saw Richie's shadow below. ' _You can knock him out and escape easy.'_ John thought, walking over and wrapping his fingers around the cold metal. He took a deep breath and pulled with every bit of determination he had, which was a lot, but John was hardly a muscular man, and he cursed himself for never having taken Tico up on his offers to let John join him at the gym. 

The thought of Tico made John's heart ache, and he pulled again, pressing his foot against the wall because his feet were starting to slip. John grunted, feeling his muscles scream in protest before he pulled one last time and gave up. 

"Are you almost done?" Richie asked, knocking briefly, almost politely on the door, almost as if in warning before he went the extra step and opened it. 

"Yeah." John felt dejected as he turned the water on high and washed his hands, figuring that he didn't need to get sick with whatever germs were crawling around in this hellhole before he ended up dying in it. He wiped his hands on his coat, shut off the water, and then opened the door. 

Richie smiled. "Hey. I was beginning to worry that you'd managed to get out that window." He said, but the joke fell flat, and so did his smile. 

Looking down at the scuffed wood, John allowed himself to be led back to the couch, and he sat down, feeling cold and sad and alone. He wasn't a weak person, but being in an unfamiliar place at an unfamiliar person's mercy made him feel that way. 

Like he did every time that he was on stage, John took a deep breath and tried to summon his courage, but it didn't come. It abandoned him, and John was left alone, uncertain if, when the sun came above the horizon, that he would still be alive, and he wondered if it'd been useless to even try at all. 

But then Richie's pencil scratched against the paper, and John stiffened. 

' _You can't give up! You can't!'_ John thought. He took a deep breath and held it until his heart calmed down and then he exhaled. John knew that he couldn't just give up when he'd only been in this godforsaken place for an hour or so. 

As Richie wrote his letter and thunder started to rumble above in the skies, John resolved to fight. He wasn't about to give up. 

\-- 

"Oh, fuck, it's about to rain." David held his hand out, and a few drops of rain landed on his palm. "What now?" He asked, looking between the other two, hoping that it was all just some weird joke. 

But, judging by Alec's expression, it was all too real. "The only thing I can think of is that he somehow managed to find a pay phone, that he used the one inside the bar for some reason, or that..." He trailed off, and kicked at a lone rock that was laying near his feet. 

They were all gathered near the truck, hopeless and afraid to voice their concerns out loud, perhaps out of twisted superstition. The sky had grown even darker as clouds had gathered above, and then the darkness had been broken when a flash of lightning had echoed and burst. 

"It's been an hour." Tico said. "I think that one of us should go back inside, call his parents, and ask if John's there. If he isn't, then we tell them what happened." He was clearly set in his idea, and unwilling to try anything sifferent. 

"Oh, God." David tossed his head back. His glasses slipped and nearly fell of his face. "They're gonna kill me." He said. 

"No, don't think like that." Tico hurriedly said, holding his hands out in a gesture of comfort. "Whatever happens, they're not gonna blame you. Here, just tell me their number and I'll call them." He said. 

Alec sighed, looking out toward the distance, knowing that he wouldn't but hoping beyond hope that he'd see John in the distance, that he'd just gone home, that he was safe and alive. 

But there was a terrible feeling in his chest that said otherwise. ' _He's okay.'_ Alec told himself. ' _He's alive.'_


End file.
